Magazine Posts

When I was a child,
I feared the wind
because you told me so.
I always wore my hat
tied tight,
when the wind, did blow,
for with ears like mine
and a small behind,
it was the only way to go.

You work your magic ways
on me and
I feel better.
Sharing just a moment of your time,
soothes me.
Listening is a virtue you have,
like no other I have known.
Perhaps, someday
I will tell you.

Love you not a woman
for they will rue the day,
when those you thought
were friendly,
simply ran away.

Sliding quickly, beneath the covers,
feeling the cold embracing sheet,
soon our bodies
will mold together
and the warmth will reach your feet.

Bright are the flowers,
gold is the sun,
that shines about you.
Dark is the night,
black is the moon,
without you.
Where will I go?
Is life worth living?
What will I do,
If I can't be giving,
my love to you?

You are like no other woman
I have ever known.
You turn darkness into light,
with your smile.
You chase the doubt from my mind,
with your words.
You dry the tears from my eyes,
with your kiss.
You turn sadness into joy,
with your presence.
The touch of your hand,
makes it real.
For I will never know,
another you.

Cold winds are blowing me away
from you.
Reach out, give me your hand.
Hold me.
I'm slipping, ever backward,
falling.
Drifting, aimlessly.
Searching with out seeking,
looking but not seeing,
loving without caring.

Circles, ever present, reappear
again and again.
I have been here before,
over and over.
Life's circular movements,
day after day,
begins every morning.

Putting words to paper
still does not come easy,
for I try not to write
what might be offensive
to others.
I will try to do better
or worse,
it depends upon the reader.
Does it matter what I write
or if I write at all?
Who knows?
Who cares?
I do.

Softly, so very softly,
I say your name
to faceless people
and no one listens.
Alone, in a darkened room,
sits a unhappy man,
surrounded by his frustrations,
lying at his feet.
Rising above this state of mind,
seeing beauty, as it's meant to be,
talking, loving, touching people
with his life.
He becomes a better person, through loving
and by saying,
"Softly, so very softly,
I say your name,
to faceless people
and no one listens,"
except for me.

Beneath the star lit,
ice clear sky,
the leaves of summer,
fall and die.
The piles of yellows,
turn to brown,
where decay and rot,
breastfeed the ground.

Volumes of noise,
from the voices of thousands,
echoes in the concrete chamber,
overpowering the sound
of vendors, hawking beer.
Banks of lights,
cast their false sunlight,
on artificial grass,
as players, run swiftly,
without shadows.